


please don't drop me home

by acquario



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:35:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acquario/pseuds/acquario
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when laura says <i>let's run.</i>, they run. </p><p>(aka that one au where laura and carmilla go into hiding in berlin).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. please don't drop me home

_oh, please don't drop me home_   
_because it's not my home, it's their_   
_home, and i'm welcome no more_

carmilla packs all of her clothes and takes out a big, sturdy bag from under her bed (you discover it contains a considerable amount of cash, burned phones and passports of different nationalities and there’s so many questions on the tip of your tongue but never enough time for them). she stuffs her very old copy of camus’ opera omnia and thus spoke zarathustra into it. she doesn’t bring anything else with her.

you pack two pairs of jeans, three cardigans, five t-shirts, your pajama, a couple of sweaters and all the underwear you own. you stare at your desk for a couple of seconds, before grabbing your tardis mug, laptop and camera and dumping it into your backpack. you consider carefully what books to take with you, and take your worn out copies of harry potter and the deathly hallows, pride and prejudice and code name: verity and place them on the top of the soft layer your clothes make. you hope they don’t get wrinkled too much. you take the first-aid kit your father got you for you twelfth birthday and push to make it fit.

carmilla is already waiting by the door, the most tense you have ever seen her. you tap her slightly on the shoulder, and she jumps.

 _never do that again._ , she hisses, annoyed. she takes your hand (her grasp is cold and metal-like), and guides you through the halls. you tug a bit when you’re in front of lafontaine’s (and perry’s) room, and you silently point at it.

she shakes her hand and mouths no, eyes already erratically searching for danger lurking in the shadows.

you sigh, but nod.

she offers a bitter smile that wants to be comforting, and tightens her grip on your hand a bit.

you try to return the smile, but all you manage is a grimace.

-

she wants to steal a car, but you oppose out of pure principle, ignoring her perfectly valid reasons.

 _what do you suggest we do, then?_ , she asks under her hood. in the dark night you can make out the harsh profile of her nose, and the faint light of her eyes (they shine, which should not surprise you as much as it does, knowing she’s half-cat and all).

 _piggyback ride?_ , you ask, only half-joking.

she closes her eyes in exasperation and for the first time you feel a bit guilty for dragging her into this. for using her absolute loyalty to you (and no one else) for your own ends (even if your ends are protecting your friends).

 _we can go by train._ she says, interrupting your thoughts. _up until berlin. i have some_ \- she looks for the right word - _friends in there. in the oranienstraße._ her voice takes a heavy accent. it’s not the time or the situation to find it endearing, but you do all the same. _they can hide us for a while, until mother loses us._

_and then?_

she laughs.

_paris. rome. saint petersburg. you name it, cutie._

-

when you break into the nearest train station it’s already three in the morning. you wait, worried and trying to fight off the shaking that threatens to take over you body, as she climbs on one of the carriages.

 _laura._ she calls after an excruciatingly long minute, and you throw her your bags, as instructed.

at last, she offers you both her hands, and lifts you as if you’re weightless.

_after you, sweetheart._

she gestures to the hole she opened on the top of carriage (so much for low profile) (she then reassures you that she made sure to rip apart as many as possible) and you hesitantly let yourself in, legs swinging into nothing before falling clumsily onto the floor of the carriage. carmilla follows suit, landing with effortless grace.

 _have you done this before?_ , you try to joke, but carmilla says nothing and maybe she has (if so, has she failed?) (have you made the right choice trusting here? was there really any other choice?).

_you should sleep. berlin is not that far, and i don’t know when we will be able to rest again._

you unsurely stand up to go sit next to where she’s settled, her back to the wall of the carriage. she has taken one of her books and is flicking through the pages to find her mark, as if she’s still in your room at silas.

it hits you all at once, that you’ll never see it again, and that carmilla is what remains.

you want to cry, but you just move her arm so that it wraps your shoulder and you’re resting against her collarbone.

she stiffens, but you mutter _it's freezing_ before she has the time to say anything (carmilla is cold and dead, but she warms something in your heart).

 _would you like me to read?_ is the unexpected answer and you nod gratefully into her shoulder, because being alone with your thoughts might break you apart right now.

 _aujourd'hui maman est morte. ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas._ , her even voice reads, and you fall asleep lulled by words you don’t fully comprehend.

-

you wake up not much later, still in her embrace. she’s shaking, and her boney fingers are clawing into your arm.

 _carmilla? carmilla, what’s wrong?_ , you look up to her face, and you see the tears she’s barely holding.

 _dark, closed space_. she manages to spit out through gritted teeth.

 _shit._ , you whisper, and you move to give her space, because you heard somewhere it’s the first thing to do if someone has a panic attack.

she lets out a desperate sob, and you’re reminded that nothing of what you know applies to carmilla.

you move again, and kneel in front of her. firmly, you take her arms away from her own face and (for the second time that night) wrap them around you. she pulls you close, so close to her cold body it draws the breath out of you (it kinda hurts, but it’s not important right now). you place your arms around her neck (you’re so close that she almost feels warm) and whisper nonsense into her ear ( _carmilla. i’m here. you’re here. you’re here with me. everything is fine. you’re fine._ ), until eventually all the remains of her turmoil are the bruises on your arm and ribcage (when she sees them, days later, she traces them with shaking fingers that you pretend not to notice, and you know they’re going to be added to her personal list of times she hurt you) (you want to tell her it’s ok, but you don’t quite manage to find the words).

-

when you finally reach berlin, you’re still huddled together.

 _let’s go,_ she says as the train slows.

you nod, and she jumps, hoisting herself on the roof with just her fingertips.

 _show off._ you say, and she laughs for the first time since the start of your new life.

 _death has its perks, sweetheart._ she tells you and, once again, lifts you and your bags effortlessly.

you feel the light on your face and think that right now you maybe understand a very (very, very, very) small part of what carmilla must have felt like to finally breathe freedom again.

_ready to jump?_

_no._ , you say, staring worriedly at the ground.

 _hey. you can do it._ ( _i believe in you._ , it’s what goes unsaid, but you hear it anyway).

you tighten your jaw, and jump.

you roll on the ground, because years of krav maga have in no way prepared you for train hopping. your heart beats loudly into your ears. you take a second to mentally check your body for permanent damage: your knees and ankles hurt like hell, but you’re pretty sure nothing is broken.

carmilla offers you her hand (you didn’t even notice she’d jumped) and helps you get up. she’s wearing her hood again, and a scarf covers most of her chin and mouth.

 _the sun burns me._ she explains without you asking. _i didn’t have to go through this whole routine in silas because mother dearest has witched up the place_.

you uhm your understanding.

 _gets better after midday._ she shrugs, and takes her bags. you hop your giant backpack on your shoulders with a groan, and follow until the station (the sign reads schlachtensee - you can’t even read that).

carmilla stops to study the bus plan for long seconds. around you, all you hear are the sharp accents of german and you end up staring at carmilla for the sole reason that her small figure is the only thing that feels familiar.

 _we need to take the m29._ she says after a while.

she doesn’t notice you staring, or maybe she pretends not to.

you get onto the bus. it’s crowded, so you stand next to each other in its tail. you spend the thirty something minutes of the ride buried in carmilla’s shoulder, eyes shut tight (you’re tired and you don’t want to see the city just yet). carmilla circles your waist with her arm and places a soft kiss on your hair.

 _are you ok?_ she whispers.

you nod (your voice would betray you).

you finally get off. for a second you wonder if carmilla isn’t going to draw attention, completely covered as she is. then you take in the oranienstraße, and you realise that in this crowd of leather and spiky hair, you’re going to stand out much more than her, with your pastel cardigan and piercingless face. carmilla seems to notice your discomfort, because she drags you into a back alley and tosses you a leather jacket she takes out her bag. it smells like her (laura’s shampoo and the fresh way air feels at five am) and you wear it without protesting (even if you do glare at her because tossing things is extremely rude).

after walking quietly for a while (it’s surprising how much this city suits carmilla, how very beautiful and similar they are), she stops in from of an apartment complex.

she rings the intercom, and she exchanges a few, dry sentences in quick german.

the door opens with a squeak.

 _what is this place?_ , you ask as she guides you through the stairs with no hesitation.

 _succubus brothel._ she answers casually, and you feel laughter bubbling into your throat.

_what?_

you shake you head (this is your life now).

-

there’s only one bed (as if you needed an excuse to hang more onto carmilla).

you’re sweaty and disgusting, but you lay on it and let yourself relax for the first time that day.

carmilla hangs behind, back to the wall. you want her to closer, but you don’t know how to say that out loud (you’ve simply taken so far, without ever asking). you settle for patting the space next to you (you’ve talked so little in the last couple of days) (you almost don’t feel like laura anymore).

she sits on the edge of the bed. you groan. she laughs (it’s beautiful) (she’s beautiful) and lays next to you.

you prop yourself on your elbow to look at her.

 _i’m exhausted._ you say.

_running away from the forces of the dark will do that to you._

you remain silent.

 _i’m glad you’re here with me._ you blurt out before the courage leaves you. _i’m glad it’s you. if it was someone else i would be way more miserable._ god, that sounded wrong. _what i mean is, you’re the only reason i haven’t had a meltdown yet._

( _real smooth, sundance, real smooth_ \- it's like an echo from another life).

_just, thank you, ok. for doing this. i don’t know why you’re doing it, but thank you._

she laughs (you feel hurt).

 _oh laura._ she says softly. _you’re why i’m doing it. it’s always been you. it will always be you._

she’s closer now.

 _can i kiss you?_ she whispers.

_yes. yes yes one thousand times yes._

there are stars in her eyes. her hand moves slowly to cup your face (she’s trembling ever so slightly).

 _ich liebe dich._ she says on your lips (you can feel her cold breath), and finally (finally) kisses you.

(she tastes like nothing you’ve known before) (you have all the time in the world to make her your new home).

_ich hab’ noch einen koffer in berlin_   
_deswegen muss ich nächstens wieder hin._   
_die seligkeiten vergang’ner zeiten_   
_sind alle noch in meinem kleinen koffer drin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Carmilla reads early on is from Camus' The Stranger. The translation is "Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure."
> 
> The songs quoted are There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths and and Ich hab' noch einen koffer in Berlin, performed by Marlene Dietrich (a translation can be found here http://german.about.com/library/blmus_hknef_kofferE.htm )


	2. a strange fear gripped me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was an accident. tw for blood at one point.

__we're nothing, and nothing will help us  
maybe we're lying,  
 _then you better not stay_  
 _but we could be safer,_  
 _just for one day._

you spend the first week holed up in the small room ( _it’s safe._ , she explains you,  _the brothel has a spell to keep out men who aren’t invited in_ ).

there’s not much to do. you sleep in carmilla’s arms. you read your books for the one hundredth time (you try to read carmilla’s but they’re all in languages you don’t speak). you force carmilla to speak german as much as possible, because you find it cute (sometimes, when it’s late, her accent slips out in english and you can’t help kissing her). you cuddle. you have sex (having a girlfriend that doesn’t need to breathe proves to be amazing) and lazy post-coital conversations about everything and nothing. you get your camera out your bag and take several videos and approximately two hundred seventy-three pictures of carmilla (you capture her laughing once, an open, young laugh at something you say and promise yourself to make that happen more).

for the first two days, your phone beeps incessantly. after exactly fifty-two messages, both lafontaine and danny give up on demanding you come back, and only send you daily updates (danny from whatever happens in class, as if you’re sick and she doesn’t want you to fall back) (lafontaine talks to you about their lab experiments and things with perry and you feel so guilty for leaving your best friend behind). perry, as usual, refuses to acknowledge anything is wrong, and sends you messages once a week asking how you’re doing. you don’t read the texts your dad sends.

 _you ought to destroy that soon. it’s traceable._ , carmilla says into your hair.

you’re cuddling in the queen bed. you haven’t done much else today.

 _i know._ you answer, but it’s not until rome that you bring yourself to do that.

-

the second week is by far the hardest, because carmilla has finished her blood stocks and looks rougher each day.

 _i could…_ you start hesitantly, but she shakes her head.

 _don’t sweat it, liebchen_. she treads her fingers through your hair (she has a thing for braiding for it and you suspect it has something to do with social grooming) (not that you’ll ever tell her). _i’ll figure something out._

it turns out, she doesn’t, so when she looks like she’s on the edge of another seizure (which you never want to witness again. never) you walk into the small bathroom, find a razor in the counter, and gritting your teeth together, slowly open a large cut across your palm.

she’s behind you before you even blink, speaking so fast you almost can’t tell the words apart (you hear the concern in her voice and you push the guilt away before it can hit you).

 _look, shut up and just drink._ you snap.

she stops in her tracks. you listen to the blood drip on the white bathroom floor (one drop, two drops, three drops).

 _this discussion isn’t over,_ she hisses.

you swallow, but offer your open hand to her stubbornly (fifteen drops, sixteen drops, seventeen drops).

her fingers grasp your wrist, and she brings her cold lips to her palm (you can’t help but shiver at the gentle touch).

you have a feeling your breath shouldn’t be this labored, but her eyes never leave yours as she drinks, a mix of hunger and and fury (and maybe the dizziness you feel is not just from blood loss). everything is so silent you can her swallow regularly, and your own heart beating wildly.

when her lips leave your hand, it feels like centuries have passed.

 _never do that again.,_ she says (you don’t know if she’s talking to you or to herself).

she looks so angry you’re half-convinced she’s gonna storm off, but instead she opens a drawer and takes out a first aid kit. she bandages your hand with expertise and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. her lips are warm now (and still crimson with blood). she doesn’t look at you (does she think she’s let you down?).

 _carmilla._ you whisper. _kiss me._ your voice is hoarse.

her head jerks up, and you can tell she’s confused. then she smirks incredulous, and obliges you.

she tastes like blood and metal and stolen warmth (and you love it).

( _the vampire and her girlfriend with a blood kink._ she says mockingly when you’re both into bed) ( _guess we’re the perfect match_ you retort, and for once she shuts up) (she never lets you live it down).

-

the day after, carmilla announces she wants to go out.

 _i can’t stand these four walls anymore._ she says as she wanders around the room looking for clean clothes.

 _do you think it’s safe?_. you extend your arms in her direction. she doesn’t notice.

 _carm._ you whine. she turns, smiles, and crosses the room to give you a quick peck.

 _i’m not sure._ she says on your lips (you steal another kiss), _but when has safety or lack thereof ever stopped you?_

you offer a lazy smile.

 _we’ll take our precautions._ she kisses you again (and again and again and again and).

despite your best intentions, you don’t leave until much later.

-

she puts back her hoodie and scarf, and wears fake glasses for good measure ( _you look so hot_ , you say when you see her) ( _not so bad yourself, cupcake_ ).

she then styles your hair in a complicated system of pins and curls that makes it look way shorter than it actually is, and gets a big hat from somewhere.

 _there._ she says.

she grabs your injured hand, checks the bandage and drags you in the nearest metro station (your bodies stay close with effortless affection for the whole ride).

-

first stop is the pergamon.

she leads you across the white halls of the museum, stopping every now and then to point you to this or that work ( _god, i hated him_ ) (t _hat was actually my idea_ ) ( _i was there when they broke that finger_. lips curled in disdain. _idiots_.)

when you reach the altar’s room, she falls silent, and moves silently in contemplation of the frieze, oblivious to anything that’s not art.

 _pergamen baroque._ , she whispers reverently at one point. _i love it_.

it’s beautiful, you agree as you admire artemis fighting with a giant (you think danny would love to see this depiction of her goddess - she looks as proud and fierce as danny herself)

 _my favourite is hermes_.

she looks at you, surprised.

_why?_

_patron of travellers. conductor of souls to the afterlife._ you shrug. _my family wasn’t really religious, so i found comfort where i could._ you lower your eyes. _i wrote him a lot of letters after my mom died._

her hand moves to squeeze yours. you take comfort in her cold touch.

-

you reach the berlin wall (or rather, what’s left of it).

you want to ask so many questions (were you there? do you remember it?), but carmilla has been lost in her thoughts since you started walking along the death strip, admiring the graffitis.

it’s absolutely freezing and the sky is grey, and despite the swarm of tourists surrounding you, you can’t help but feel like it’s you and her at the end of the world.

at the end of the wall, there’s a big space that opens on a body of water.

_is this a river?_

she shakes her head.

 _luisenstaedtischer kanal._ she answers. her voice is barely a whisper. she shakes her head.

_i met david bowie here._

you roll your eyes. _bullshit._

she frowns. _it's true. i met david bowie._ right there. on that spot. she points to one of the edges of the wall, where a girl is singing in german (you can’t make out the words, but it’s a pretty song).

_yeah, right._

_i’m offended you'd ever doubt me again, buttercup._

you’re rolling your eyes when you see him, standing a couple of metres from you (distracted, thankfully) (for how long, you wonder).

you want to scream (you don’t).

 _carmilla._ you whisper, as cold realisation sets in your spine.

 _that’s will._ you hope (pray) he doesn’t hear you.

 _scheiße. scheiße scheiße scheiße scheiße._ she grabs your hand without grace, and starts walking away at barely human speed.

you feel will’s stare on your neck, but you pray it’s just your imagination and squeeze carmilla’s hand more tightly, not caring about your injury (the pain grounds you a bit).

-

you’re back in your room and she’s shaking (you are too, but you don’t realise it).

you force her to sit on the bed. she lets you. you divert your attention from her long enough to close the curtains (the barrier between you and the night outside makes you feel safer for no reason), then you turn back.

carmilla is still staring the nothing. you wonder what horrors she sees in the green wall.

you sigh, and force yourself to shake off the cold that’s nestled deep in your bones (carmilla first) (everything else later).

you kneel in front of her, and caress gently her cheeks (she’s so cold) (her eyes don’t come back to life).

_hey. we’re fine._

she shakes her head, and turns away from you, letting herself fall heavily onto the bed.

 _we’re leaving soon._ she mutters into the covers. her voice cracks, and you pretend not to notice.

you get up to make some tea in the kitchen shared by the succubi girls (your mom always made you tea when you were upset).

you hear her sobs as soon as you close the door behind you

-

when you come back, she’s already sleeping (she looks so small in the giant bed).

you take off her muddy boots, and don’t fall asleep in her arms since forever.

-

what wakes you up is the sound of her sobs. in the dark, you can barely make out the shape of her back at the edge of the bed.

 _carm._ you murmur, still drowsy.

she doesn’t turn, but her shoulders stiffen, and she falls silent.

_it’s fine. you don’t have to. you don’t have to hide._

no answer.

_come here._

(her eyes shine again but this time you can’t tell if it’s supernatural or her tears)

she falls heavily into your extended arms. her bangs cover her forehead. she doesn’t look at you, and instead settles for curling into your chest.

you tread your fingers through her hair, and say nothing.

 _i almost got you killed._ her shoulders shake.

you shush her.

_no, i almost got you killed. i was careless, and an idiot, and i shouldn’t have let that happen and what if he had found us laura? what if he had seen us? i didn’t even notice. i’m stupid and careless and i almost got you killed. like having to drink your blood wasn’t enough. i’m so sorry._

_hey. i basically forced you to drink from me. and i enjoyed it._

she laughs without conviction.

_you’ve done nothing wrong._

she looks at you (her eyes are still guilty) and you kiss her forehead.

 _you have done nothing wrong._ she gets a little closer and you frame her face with your hands. your thumb strokes lightly her damp cheek.

 _you’re good._ you kiss her eyebrow. _you’re beautiful._ her nose (she smiles despite herself). _you’re brave_. her lips still taste like salt. _i love you_.

 _say that… say that again._ (her eyes are so young) (so earnest) (you fall in love a bit more).

 _i love you._ you prop yourself on your elbow, and kiss her more deeply. _i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you._

she sobs like she can’t quite believe you.

(she will, eventually, and you’re there for every step of the way).

_our lips touched beneath the stars_  
 _the lights flashed from passing cars_  
 _your face melted in my heart_  
 _ and it showed me who you are _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from Heroes by David Bowie and Berlin by New Politics. This might, or might not get more chapters. I honestly don't know. Hope you enjoyed (and that i didn't ruin it).


	3. to die by your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short epilogue.

you come back, eventually, when your heart no longer beats and carmilla’s hand doesn’t feel cold in yours anymore.

everything is different, but the soft light in her eyes as she kisses you is the same, and so is the feather-like quality of her steps as she leads you - once more - through bittersweet buildings (it’s not home, but it’s the most _yours_ place you have).

she sings _berlin, du bist so wunderbar!_ at the top of her lungs, ignoring the glares of the innocent bystanders (you knew drinking all that vodka was not a good idea), and you laugh as she falls into your arms.

you lift her easily, and twirl around, because you can, because you’re happy, because she’s here and you’re here and pollution still hasn’t dimmed the stars and she’s yours and you’re hers.

 _hey._ she laughs.

_hey._

you kiss her.

(home is how her body fits against yours). (home is her mess, her fingers through your hair, her half-whispered love confessions when she thinks you're asleep).

(home is where she is).

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song carmilla sing is real, and the title means "Berlin, you are so wonderful!" The “bar” in “wunderbar” is similar to the german for bear (“bär”) and the berlin coat of arms features a black bear - so it also makes for a nice pun.


End file.
